Chapter Three

It was just the two of us in the isles of the store, or it felt that way to me. The people milling in and out were just a confusing buzz of static in my head. I held on to my father's hushed presence. If I concentrated enough I could hear a murmur, like putting an empty seashell to my ear. That's what he was; the ocean's muffled roar.

Normally mom and dad would let me roam around for a while and if I picked something from the shelves they would buy it for me, as long as it was something small like socks or a cupcake. Sometimes chips and soda. I didn't feel comfortable leaving dad's side this time around though.

The groceries list was in my hand. I held it up in front of me and looked around, completely lost. Dad was just following me, pushing the cart. After so long buying groceries here you'd think I'd know it like the back of my hand, but it's not like I ever payed much attention. Whenever I used to wander off, it was mom that called me back. You know, in that silent manner. That's why I never got lost before, but now…

What does that list say? my father asked after several minutes just wandering around and still the cart was empty.

I read the list for him.

Milk - we'd be running out soon -, eggs, two cartons, potatoes, a protractor…

A protractor? my father asked raising his brow curiously.

I smiled faintly. I realized that that list might have been a testament to my mother's mind. Inspecting it further I saw that there were other school items mixed with the vegetables. That's how things were inside her head. It was kind of beautiful, now that I thought about it. My mother's thoughts might have been sort of a mess, but hey. The stars are also a mess, littered around up there without a single care. But think of the constellations. Think that among that giant glittering mess up in the night sky somebody might find a hidden pattern and a story to tell about it.

The paper crackled in my hand as I clutched it tighter. It felt like I was holding a part of mom.

A pair of shoes… I said. I need a new pair. Maybe two. Mine are a bit tight now.

My father scratched his chin and looked around the sterile white all around us. We were at the dairy and frozen corridor and we both stood there not quite knowing what to do.

Alright, he finally said. He fished in his pockets for change but only found bills. He mumbled to himself trying to uncrumple them but gave up. He handed me one of the bills and told me to roam a bit. Fifteen minutes. Meet him at the parking lot after.

I took a few tentative steps away from that corridor. I looked over my shoulder at my father. He was just looking at the frozen foods. I decided to leave him for a while and looked down at the money he'd given me.

It was a one hundred bill.

What was I supposed to do with that? Any other time I probably would have been over the moon. Now though, I realized that what Owain and I had said a long time ago wasn't so far from the truth of the situation.

Out of nowhere, I'd asked him, What would you do if you had a million dollars?

Owain whistled dreamily. I don't know, he said.

Yeah, I laughed. Me neither.

A hundred dollars wasn't a million, but it sure felt like a lot still. It kind of boggled my mind.

In the three weeks or so since school had finished I had gotten into the habit of not doing anything. I'd wake up with the remote control in hand, my thumb searching for the red Power button out of instinct, and turned on the TV, and just laid there. And I didn't care about a thing.

I didn't see the point. Why get up? The day went on as it always did without my help. The sun rose from the corner of my window whether I acknowledged it or not, and it fell just the same. What did I care for the world out there? Closing my eyes, everything felt too close. It was strange. The feelings which up until then had been nothing but abstract, ticklish oddities now presented themselves clearer than the perfectly white moon against the pitch black sky. I could really see things now, like the night that my mother died.

See why I wanted to get away? If I stayed in my room the walls gave me a sense of privacy - of detachment. The world didn't need me to keep cranking on into the million tomorrows that would come, and I didn't need it buzzing inside my head - like the shoppers in the Pricesmart - with its traffic and fast food parlors and smoke and summer parties…

What the hell was I supposed to do with a hundred dollars?

I had wandered into the magazines section. Focusing my eyes again I got fixated on an issue of Cosmopolitan. One featured article title read, What's Your Sex IQ?

What? What was my what?

Find Out How You Really Score in Bed! it read under the title in smaller black letters.

I swallowed uncomfortably. Questions about sex around those days usually transported me to a different place, a different day, a different clutter of things falling from the nightstand in Lucy's room after a pressed her too hard against it and neither of us cared that her house was full of people.

Back then I hadn't been sure whether I liked her so much. I only knew that the hairs on the back of my neck rose when our arms brushed together accidentally and that she smelled of peaches. I didn't know whether my hands, trembling and restless, felt good on her, or if it was normal the way I'd gotten hard so soon.

Would it be OK? I had wondered. Would it be OK to put my hand over her breast?

Lucy had started wearing bras for some time now. As I kissed her, that's all I could think about. What would those feel like, cupped in my palms? Would it be like her butt - warm, soft…

You can, you know? Lucy had whispered in my ear, kind of husky and sweet. Birthday girl.

Really? I had asked, my hands already wandering from under the first inch under her skirt, back up over the curve of her waist. Can I, really?

And that's when Lucy's dad had come in, wondering where Lucina was and everyone was waiting for her to blow the fifteen candles on her cake... Same as that time, I was rattled by an abrupt presence as I opened my eyes again

I don't know if I suspected Mark since the first time he appeared. Thinking back on it now, it seems like I should have. I should have known better from how out of place he seemed inside the white isles of the Pricesmart. I should have seen that the face of this man was a 'don't mess with me' type of face.

But when he grabbed the magazine with the article about sex IQ, whatever that was, and said, Hi Morgan. How have you been? I was more intrigued at how this perfect stranger knew my name without me telling him first.

Initially, I wasn't sure he was talking to me. I glanced over my shoulders with jerky motions, looking for another person behind me that would just happen to have the same name as me. It could happen, right? Not this time. I knew that this man couldn't be talking to anyone but me, but that didn't stop me from wondering.

Did he mean me?

Yes, you, he said. You didn't change your name did you? Or is your mother's name not Robin? Isn't she a bit short? Taller than you, but you've been stretching up a bit. You might get to be even taller than Lon'qu.

Listening to him talk was as if I was hearing my own thoughts. He knew all these things that in the back of my head I'd been thinking when I put on clothes after taking a shower and realized that I'd have need of a whole new wardrobe soon. I'd been moving into bigger sizes for a couple of years now and I saw no end to it.

You do look like her, the man said. Like Robin. Shame. If you'd been a girl, you'd be beautiful.

I don't know why I was so embarrassed at that. I just was. What if I'd been a girl, he was saying. I'd be beautiful, like mom?

Hey, he said and dropped his heavy palm on my shoulder and squeezed gently. I'm sorry about what happened to her. And I'm sorry you were there.

I froze up. Whatever words I was thinking of saying, like water that gets clogged by a bunch of crap or freezes in the winter, died halfway out my throat. I looked at the man's face. He wasn't anything special-looking. Forgettable even. If I tried describing him I'm afraid I'd end up describing at least half the world's male population.

What do you want me to say about him? He had a face. And a nose too, and a mouth like yours or mine or my dad's. He was just another person, but not really. No, because he knew something I had only told a total of one person in the world. And Owain wasn't one to go talking about other people's secrets. And I hadn't told Owain of the night mom died, and how I fell with her on the mud and felt hands around her ankles that pulled her away, away…

I'm your uncle Mark, Morgan, the man said. I want to talk to you.